


By the Time the Snow Melts (we'll be alright)

by wildlyfuriousdragon



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Bad Bob Zimmermann is a good Bro, Good coping mechanisms, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, The summer after the kiss fic, wet dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 22:31:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7125079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildlyfuriousdragon/pseuds/wildlyfuriousdragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sure kissing Eric was nice, but where do they go from here? </p><p>[Companion fic for Figuring things out (before the snow melts)]</p>
            </blockquote>





	By the Time the Snow Melts (we'll be alright)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EstherShapiro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EstherShapiro/gifts).



> me @ me: Uhm, don't you have an uncompleted fic to be working on   
> also me @ me: uhm bitch I do what I want
> 
> This is a part of the 10k drabble I had written, but decided to throw away after the April update. BUT I read through it recently and I decided I REAALLYY liked it and I wanted to share it all with you. 
> 
> I'm also dedicated this to the AMAZING theboringteacher, for having such a creative mind and just agreeing to help me with Make Dating Great Again!!!!! 
> 
> Note: I do not own any of these Characters! They are the beautiful brainchild of the wonder Ngozi.

 “Oh.”

Jack has never been a stranger to want. He wanted to be successful in his education and in his sport. He wanted to please his father and make his mother proud. Sometimes, (before everything came apart) he wanted girls, pretty ones, with long legs and tan skin, soft lips and wicked mouths. He’d wanted cold beers and hard liquors and the hazy fuzzy warmth that came with alcohol. Jack thought he wanted Eric Bittle, but this feeling was wholly different.

Everything else felt like an itch; desires that could only be pacified with a thumbs-up, an impressive goal, a Winter Screw, good publicity. He scratched at his desires when he was bothered. He knew how to keep his want in check (at least he thought he did), but whatever he felt for Bitty- want couldn’t even cover it.

If he’s thinking clearly about the subject (and you better believe he rarely is when Bitty is involved), Jack could say ‘Eric Bittle is gorgeous and sweet and funny, and a wonderful hockey player’. He could also say that’s he’s gotten more than one hard-on in the locker room from looking at Bitty for a _tad_ too long as he got changed.

And that all makes sense. These are natural reactions that a person can have for another. Jack doesn’t like things to be overly complicated so that is what he reduces his feeling down to.

Until Bitty is holding him after he’d shaken up from a game. Until he’s complaining about people sending him hateful comments about his vlog. Until he’s a little drunk and singing in that pretty voice of his. Until he’s baking and focused as hell. Until he’s lost and alone on the ice, his face completely at peace. Then things get complicated.

Complications (especially emotional ones) are usually Jack’s alarm to run away, avoid- but Bitty’s a fuckin’ light and he’s a really dumb moth and he’d happily die every day to get close to him again.

The oddest thing about this is- Bitty has to know right? Jack’s impulse control drops to 0 when he’s within five feet of him and he’s spilling coffee, bumping into him, touching his hair, holding his bags etc. Jack would like to think he comes off as smooth, maybe a little mysterious but there is no way in hell Bitty can see that Jack is clearly taken with him. Right?

#

The graduation ceremony is over and Jack is almost over stimulated with congratulations from weepy eyed colleagues, alumni parents, and even a few hockey fans. Bitty is among them and Jack hugs him, takes his compliments with ease. But Bitty’s hug isn’t as tight as it usually is and his shoulders are tense. As he walks away, and his blonde head disappears into the crowd of other well wishers it hits Jack.

Bitty doesn’t know.

_Bitty does not know._

_#_

What claws through his chest can’t possibly be want. It must be its fiercer, more terrifying cousin. It rages inside him like a rabid animal, wringing the breath from his very lungs. He barely registers his father’s hand on his shoulder, the _‘you’ll miss every shot you don’t take’._ He is however hyperaware of the fact that he was about 5 minutes to find Bitty and do- something. Anything.

Or whatever this burning sensation that’s running in his body is going to consume him entirely.

“J’riens!”

Jack’s not exactly sure why he’s running toward the Haus, or what he’ll do when he gets there.

He’ll figure it out on the way.

#

 

“BITTY!”

Oh Shit. Oh Shit. He’s too late. He’s two years too late. He’s millisecond too late. Shit.

There’s faint music coming from his (Chowder’s) room and relief and hope flood through his heart so fast he’s sure he’s going to drown.

Bitty’s crying but they’re restrained sobs; tears that fall while you try to convince yourself they’ve got no reason to. His music’s so loud it’s no wonder he didn’t hear Jack bounding up the stairs.

Jack pauses in the door way for a moment. ‘ _Alright, I’m here now what?_ ’ he wonders. He realizes that he ran here with NO plan. And no one knows where he is. He could slip out the room and be content with the piece of Bitty he has- not everything, but enough right? But even the thought of leaving makes his stomach lurch, so he’s got to figure something out _now._

Bitty’s aware he’s here now and is making concerned sounds but Jack can’t hear them. Bitty makes a half attempt to wipe his face and take out his headphones but by then Jack’s got a plan ((kinda).

His mouth figures it out before his brain does however and his last coherent thought for the next minute is ‘Here goes nothing eh?’    

It’s like the fire in Jack’s chest is simultaneously doused with water and fuckin’ gasoline.

On one hand, his whole body is breathing a sigh of relief, Bitty is most definitely kissing back and unless Bitty is considerable less intelligent than a Jack gives him credit for (and he knows that’s not true), Bitty knows exactly how Jack feels about him.

Well, maybe not exactly. Pleasure shoots through him like lightening and that feeling from earlier positively explodes. Jack wants to lick the blonde’s mouth open, swallow his moans as fast as he can make them. He wants to run his hands through blonde hair and leave bite marks on his neck. Jack wants to find all the places that make Bittle’s fall open in ecstasy and memorize them. Jack wants to know if he screams and begs while he’s being fucked or if he just whimpers and moans. Maybe Bittle likes to top and would pin Jack into the mattress; take him nice and slow…….

The thought alone makes him pull back and look at Bitty’s face. His breath has quickened a bit and there is a blushing rising on his face. He looks so undeniable amazing Jack can only kiss him again before he can say something stupid (or take him right there on the floor).

 

* * *

 

When Jack finally gets back to the quad, the crowd is beginning to thin and he’s just about to text his mom when he hears someone call his name.

“Where the hell did you go? My parents are already trying to leave this ‘low brow’ town.” Shitty’s sneering, waving air quotation marks around his head. His annoyed looks turns to one of confusion as he takes in Jack’s red  smiling face.

“Where _did_ you go?” Shitty’s face becomes a mixture of accusatory and amused. Jack’s positive he’s got the dumbest grin on his face (and his pants now are on the side of too tight).

“ _Je ne sais pas_.” Jack replies smiling. He closes his eyes and shakes his head like he can’t believe something and Shitty narrows his eyes.

“Where’s Bitty? Did he catch his shuttle already?” Jack’s blush deepens and Shitty’s eyes open unnaturally wide before he loses it.

“JACK LAURENT ZIMMERMAN! DID YOU FINALLY GET YOU HEAD OUT OF YOUR ASS?” A few graduates glance their way and Shitty gives them a half-hearted apologetic wave and turns his attention to the tomato looking Canadian in front of him.

“Holy shit, this is so ‘swasome.” Shitty grabs him by the elbow and steers them toward the shade of tree for privacy. “Let me guess, he was heading out the door of the Haus all forlorn and shit, and you swooped in on the back of moose and declared your undying love for him and Betsy and everything he bakes and then you kissed on the threshold of the Haus, holy shit we have _got_ to get like a plaque or something.”

Jack takes a breath for him, Shitty’s talking so fast that he can’t keep up, but he’s also scarily accurate in his own version of events. Jack’s not sure how to respond so he nods gently. Shitty’s whole expression changes from chirping teammate to life-long friend.

“Damn I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this happy bro. Best luck to you both.” Shitty claps him on the shoulder and pulls him into a hug.

“Thanks Shitty.” _We’re going to need it._

#

From the incident (Incident? Miracle? Catastrophe?) at the Haus, to his graduation dinner, and all the way to the drive to the hotel, Jack rides the high of company and laughter from the celebration of his loved ones. It’s not until he’s showered and in bed that doubt raises its ugly head and leaves him sleepless.

He lies on his back in his hotel bedroom beneath the smooth white walls and generic shore paintings. From the crescent moon outside he just make-out some of the figures until his eyes water from strain.. Jack closes them, hoping sleep will come but it’s no use.

How is this going to work between himself and Bitty? Jack’s off to play professional which will consume most of his time and Eric will have his own studies to continue at Samwell. They’re both in the closet to their families and the NHL has never had an openly gay player. He’s not sure if he wants to be the one to break the ice (no pun intended).  Jack’s sure he could handle keeping the relationship a secret; he’s used to operating under the radar (he’s pretty much mastered the whole hat/shades/hoodie disguise), but he knows in his heart of heart that Bitty doesn’t deserve that. Well, Jack can’t say that Bitty deserves someone better, but definitely someone more available to him.  Jack’s a kiss, a handhold, a hug, a blurry photograph from having his reputation put up for question and he’s used to it by now, but that would be something Bitty have to learn and get used to.

Jack clenches his jaw in frustration. _He’s going to have to hide again._

Bitty moved miles away from to get to a place where he was comfortable with his sexuality. In fact, it had taken almost a full year before the whole team knew he was gay. If Bitty couldn’t tell his own teammates, his surrogate family about himself, there’s no way he could take _millions of people_ expressing their opinions about it. So this relationship, if pursued (and yes, _mon dieu,_ Jack wants to pursue it) would have to be secret. For the both of them.

 _Or maybe just for you_ , Jack’s treacherous mind thinks. _You’re saying Bitty won’t be able to handle this because you can’t. You don’t want anything to happen to your hockey career and you’re willing to put him on the back-burner to make sure it doesn’t happen. You’re fucking pathetic._

(Anxiety such a weird thing. It’s as if its call to action is a seemingly perfect day, a calm spring afternoon.)

Jack thinks about the pills in his duffel bag. Thinks about the meeting he has tomorrow with his agent and the captain of the Falconers. Thinks about his therapist saying ‘Taking your medication is not a sign of defeat, but a sign of winning’. Thinks about talking to Bitty and working this out.

As he swallows down the water, the sugary, filmy aftertaste on his tongue, Jack smiles a bit.

This might turn out ok.

* * *

 

**A WEEK LATER**

 

_Damn, they look so nice spread out beneath him, mouth open and wet, lips obscenely red. Jack wastes no time in tasting them, licking and biting savagely like he’s starving. Jack moves from their mouth to their jaw, then down to the base of their neck._

_“Jack-” it comes out broken and hoarse and so goddamn wanton that Jack quickly shoves his hands down their boxers, groaning as he grabs their wet cock. Every stroke is slick and messy; Jack fuckin’ loves every second of it. They fuck into his fist and beg for more, more Jack please…._

_“Come for me baby,” Jack rasps, nosing the juncture between their neck and shoulder, “Make a mess for me, come on baby, same my name-”. It’s gibberish he knows but fuck, they’re responding to it so well so he keeps going. Their back arches in pleasure and they shudder through their orgasm, marking their chest and his fist._

_“You’re so good for me, so fucking good baby, shit Parse……….”_

* * *

 

Shit. Parse.

Jack wakes up with his erection pressed painfully to his stomach and his heart in his throat.

It’s not just a dream, it’s a memory from god knows when, but the sounds and sights are so clear in his mind that not even a cold shower can take the edge off. He ends up leaning his back on the cold shower tiles, twisting himself in his fist, cursing softly. He feels guilty as hell but pleasure overtakes logic (as it often does) and he’s spilling helplessly; his release disappearing down the shower drain.

Jack slides down until he’s sitting down in the tub; the cold water showering his head. He can feel his breath start to quicken and he chastises himself. _Wet dreams happen, it wasn’t intentional,_ he tries to reason, but the damage has already been done.

 

His apartment in Providence is mostly bare. He’s only lived there for a couple of weeks and most days he appreciates the silence and stillness of it all. The contrast of quiet in his own place and the constant rowdiness of the Haus are jarring, but not necessarily missed.

But  Jack can’t stand it this morning. He’s spent more time than he would like to admit imagining Bitty filling up the kitchen, the bathroom, his bed but they’d all been pleasant daydreams of a life he would like to have. Something simple and domestic, not always dictated by a practice schedule or the lukewarm press. But his thoughts of Bitty, his memories with Parse, and his anxiety all meet at an unpleasant crossroads and he feels like he’s being eaten alive with guilt.

Jack drags himself to kitchen (he does not think about baking minipies and throwing flour, **he does not)** and goes through the motions of making a protein shake. Powder, water, shake 30 seconds, drink. It’s automatic, comforting, and he can feel himself calm down marginally. He takes small sips as he leans back on the counter, rubbing a hand through still damp hair.  ‘ _Maybe I should decorate’_ , he thinks, desperate for a distraction, ‘ _Make this place feel more like home_.’

But home is warm and so is Bitty and distraction is nowhere to be found. Jack forces himself to swallow the last dregs of the drink before he walks back to the bathroom to the medicine cabinet. He stands in front of the mirror for fifteen minutes, avoiding his own reflection. With a muttered _‘Fuck’_ he finally pulls the mirror back to reveal his toothbrush, toothpaste, Advil, rubbing alcohol, and finally the damning neon orange bottle of pills. It takes another twenty minutes to grab the bottle and shake out the two he needs.

_You know you could just take them all right now. Who’s going to miss the fuck-up that is Jack Zimmerman?_

That’s it. Jack drops the pills out his hands and rushes to find his phone.

* * *

 

“Hey son, whats up?”

“ _Papa_ …m’aidez.”

“Tu es bien?”

“Non. S’il vous plait, ne dit pas maman, please……”

“Jack, I need you to say on the phone okay? You at home?”

“uh-uhm….”

“Tu es a chez toi?”

“Oui. Je m’excuse, I’m so sorry, but I can’t be alone right now.”

“Ca va, ca va, I’ll be there in 20 minutes, vingt minutes.”

“Merci papa.”

“It’s alright Jack, I’m on my way.”

* * *

 

Bad Bob Zimmerman thinks (not the first time), as he pulls into the parking lot outside Jack’s apartment, that he should have retired as soon as he heard that Alicia was pregnant. He should have finished the season, burned his skates and moved somewhere where ice didn’t even exist.

Of course he’d been excited when Jack had gotten older and shown interest in hockey, but in retrospect he wonders if it was primarily because that’s ALL Jack had been exposed to. He wonders how things had been different if Jack had taken up something else. Sure, he would have been slightly hurt that his son hadn’t followed in his footsteps, but as he rides the elevator to Jack’s floor, Bob knows he would have taken that hurt over the pain he’s had to watch Jack go through.

Jack’s curled into himself when Bob walks into the apartment. He thinks fondly of the memories of a smaller and happier boy doing the same thing. Jack looks up at his father and grimaces.

“<Sorry I called you, you probably had something to do.>” He buries his face back into his hands and Bob sits next to him.

“<If I’m ever too busy to see my son when he needs me, find another dad.>” Bob looks at his son again and tries to survey the damage. Jack has a small smile forming at the corners of his lips, but his eyes carry a weight that someone so young should never have. Bob takes a deep breath. He knows it wouldn’t be wise to ask ‘What’s wrong?’, so he tries to start a neutral conversation.

“<You never told me what happened after graduation. Did you get to say goodbye to everyone?>” Jack takes a shaky breath and Bob’s afraid he’s opened a can of worms but then Jack laughs. It’s wet and overjoyed at the same time and Bob understands.

“<I did. I think made a wonderful and horrible decision.>” Bob nods his head. Marrying Alicia had been one the greatest things he’d ever accomplished, but between their fame, they never had a shot at privacy; a fate that Jack unfortunately inherited. The couple has been long equipped for that type of exposure but it didn’t make date nights or arguments any easier.

“<So it is the heart that ails you. What’s her name?>” Jack sighs.

“<His. What’s _his_ name.>” Bob summons every ounce of professionalism that he has because all he really wants to do is jump up and shout. _Finally…._

“<Let me guess. Would this be the same young man that you would call me about and complain at his checking difficulties?>”

“Oui.”

“<The same young man that you complained baked too much and was the reason why you gained 2lbs in one week?>”

“Oui.” Jack’s blushing by now, but his smile is sheepish and genuine so Bob continues.

“<Is this the same young man whose mother continues to send me and your mother those delicious peach schnapps”>?  It must be something in Bob’s dad biology that wants to simultaneously cheer Jack up, and make him squirm. Bob had been taken with Eric as soon as he’d seen him make that shot during the Parent Weekend. He’d seen his authentic love of the game and Bob had noticed how much Eric made Jack happy.

(Happiness isn’t always hard to find, but it’s a hell of a lot harder to keep.)

“Oui. But-” Jack stops and the sadness creeps back into his eyes.

“<I feel like I was being selfish. I want to be with him more than anything, but there just seems to be so many things to figure out.>” Bob knits his eyebrows together.

“<What other things? People, places, things? What  could keep you from giving your heart to him?>”

“<I just- he’s not out. I can’t afford to be out. I might be more trouble than I’m worth, you know?>”

Bob chews on his lip thoughtfully. Jack’s never been good at communication; he’d always been better at actions than words, but he understands. Relationships are hard enough without the added concerns of the media, the politics of sexuality and even personal anxiety and fear. As a father Bob wants nothing more than to say, “Fuck it, Fuck them, run away and be happy together” but like most things, he can’t think strictly as a parent. It sucks but Bob’s an indirect publicist and an agent as well. He thinks hard while Jack begins to bite at his thumbnail, the others already bitten to irritated red nubs.

“<Are you hungry? I think this is something to be discussed on a full stomach.>” Jack opens his mouth in protest but quickly shuts it.

“<Give me a second to change.>”

“<Do pancakes sound alright?>”

“<I’m down for anything covered in maple syrup.>”

Bad Bob Zimmerman grins.

“<Glad your American cutie didn’t taint your true Canadian-ness.>”

“<PAPA!>”

#

They get a private corner at a diner in mid-town. They’re seated by a young tattooed girl who either doesn’t recognize the two, or simply doesn’t care. Jack’s silently grateful for the anonymity; he doesn’t think he could handle being the star today. On the drive over, Jack made sure to text Georgia and tell her that he’s having a ‘no business day’. She asks no other questions, only sends a thumbs-up emoticon a short encouraging message. He briefly considers sending the same message to Bitty, but knows that based on his nocturnal ways won’t even be awake to text until 6 in the afternoon.

After they order the pair sits in comfortable yet complacent silence; Bob trying to examine his own life for advice to give to his son and Jack thinks about Kent.

#

He can't say with conviction that what the pair had was a 'relationship' per say but they had something. On the ice Jack could give Kent a look, change a play on a dime and he was right there, acting as if they were operating under the same brain. They loved their sport and their intensity spilled into their personal lives.

 

Jack didn't have time for girls; he trained and traveled too often to dedicate himself to another person. He jerked off more than he would have liked to admit but it would be horrible publicity to anger multiple women in multiple cities. One night stands were prohibited but Jack was used to be alone.

 

It's hard to make friends when guys just want to meet your dad or get free game tickets and girls just want to brag that they'd kissed THE Jack Zimmerman. It's not the best way to make long lasting relationships.

 

But Kent had been something different completely. Their hook-ups were never planned and had no clear pattern. They weren’t trouble makers, just hockey playing boys, so they were given more freedom that the average teenager. They slept in the same hotel rooms, disguised themselves and crashed the same clubs, touched themselves to the same videos.

 

Kent and Jack were a couple of extremes. They could be sitting calmly, jokingly chirping at each other, then they'd be all over each other, scratching, biting, sucking, smothering moans into necks and pillows.

 

These moments never lasted long. Jack was already spiraling into his own darkness- he didn't need his own questions about his sexuality or his feelings for Kent to be brought to light. He became content with the monotony of his life. Wake up. Morning Pills. Game or Practice. Fuck or Practice more. Sleep. Repeat. Sure there were parties thrown in the mix, and sometimes Kent and he would go days before they caved; their bodies begging for touch they could readily give, but didn't quite understand.  Comprehension however was expensive, paid for with emotions and breaking hearts so they avoided it completely.

 

It was a trust fall almost every night. They needed to get out of their heads, out of the gossip columns, out of a stiff drink, out of the drafts and statistics and pressures to intense for two young men. Sometimes, when it’s too dark for the words you say to count, Jack thinks that in some ways Kent should have saved him. Not that it was his friend’s job, but that being with him should have eased the anxiety, eased the expectations. Kent understood the frustration- they could have leaned on each other for help.

 

They were dealt a different hand completely.

 

#

The story goes without saying.

 

Jack started dying and Kent wanted more from him. He wanted a teammate, a friend, a lover and Jack couldn’t be any of those things. So he pushed him away. At the time Jack thought he was doing him a favor. He needed to move on; the NHL was in front of him, Jack just wouldn’t be by his side. In retrospect he know that in a weird way he believed that he could live out his own dreams through Kent. Even if Jack got left behind in the process.

 

Then Kent went away to Las Vegas and Jack went to Samwell to start over. Their already flimsy friendship couldn’t take the distractions and the distance. Now, they were in a strange grey area. There was respect and jealousy, speculation and curiosity.

 

But Jack never accounted for the fact that he might have found comfort in someone else.

 

It makes the mess that is his heart messier but it makes his heavy heart lighter.

 

#

 

“<Alright.>” Jack looks up at his father who pushes his empty plate to the side and lays his hands on the table.  Jack recognizes this as the ‘prime lecture pose’ and has to remind himself that he’s 25 not 12 and he’s not being punished, he’s getting advice.

 

“<Firstly, you need to understand that he should never come second. Not to hockey, not another person, absolutely nothing. Understand?>” Jack nods slowly. His hysteria regarding Kent this morning had reached manageable levels and yeah- no. Kent and himself weren’t on exactly great terms, but there was nothing from their intimate relationship that could be salvaged.

 

“<Never lie to him. Admit when you’re wrong but don’t be afraid to argue. Relationships should always be a two way street, if you need him or visa versa, you should always be able to lean on one other. Or, ” he pauses to take a pointed sip of his coffee, “You’ll find someone else to lean on.>” Jack nods again, thinking that perhaps he should be taking notes.

 

“<And not for the not so good stuff. You might need a girlfriend.>” Jacks’ eyebrows shoot up in question but then realization sinks in just as quickly. Bob can see the war between his logic, self-preservation, and his emotions.

 

“<You also have to consider,” The father swallows hard, “That the two of have to talk about a lot. And when the cards all get laid on the table, you have to be okay if he folds.>”

 

 “Oui, papa.”

 

 “<Let the cards fall where they may.>”

 

"<Yes sir.>"

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come have fun with me @derekmalikpoindexter on Tumblr.


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